


I just want to feel

by Estefany



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series), Vent fic - Fandom
Genre: Apathy, Bittersweet, Childhood Trauma, Comfort/Angst, Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Out of Character, References to Depression, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Sympathetic Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-23 20:40:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30061218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Estefany/pseuds/Estefany
Summary: He wanted to screamHe wanted to cryHe wanted to feel hate and guilt dispairHe wanted to feel, so, so badly
Relationships: Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders/Deceit | Janus Sanders
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14





	I just want to feel

**Author's Note:**

> This is venting and self insert. I know this basically has no plot and is very repetitive please don't come at me. Rp group, If y'all see this, please don't 👁️👄👁️ turn around

It hadn't been a good week. At least by the facts. 

It hadn't been a good month. Or months. 

He'd been committing mistake after mistake, things with the others had gotten worse and worse. Things with Janus had gotten worse. Janus was spending much more times with others now. With Roman. And he'd spend so much more time in his room, summoning a deodorant bar or some shampoo bottle every once in a while when he remembered that, for someone godforsaken reason, he had to consume something. He couldn't even write, or draw, or _create_ anything, he'd just sit in his desk, put some music on, and try to come up with something with no success. And it was dreadful how little he seemed to care. 

Even when Janus was around all day it wasn't good. If anything, it was worse. It was hell because now Janus was there to witness all of his mistakes, his laziness. He'd ask him if he'd done his work or if he had done anything all day, and he'd lie saying he did, and both knew it was a lie but Janus didn't seem to care. Remus wished to care. He'd eat better only because Janus would make the food and call him (basically drag him sometimes, when he'd turn the volume of his headphones loud enough he could get lost in the music, get lost in the stories he'd make in his head in order to feel those faux emotions) and he didn't want Janus to get angry at him (more than he was, anyway), so even though any plate he'd serve felt like a little too much for his stomach, he'd eat it, pushing back the desire to throw up, because Janus didn't need more reasons to be mad at him.

He'd started to sleep in the other bed. It wasn't uncommon, even in their good times Janus was a lonely man and sometimes he'd rather have his privacy and wake up at his own pace without worrying about waking up the other. But Remus couldn't help but feel like he was driving him away. Of course he was driving him away. He'd driven everyone away: Roman, Virgil, and now his precious boyfriend, the little light of his life. And he wanted to feel guilty. Really guilty. The kind that consumes your insides like angry maggots at a corpse until the was no more rotten flesh they could use. But he was there, lying on his bed, alone with his painfully empty mind. What he wished was painful because it honestly wasn't. It was just pure, agonizing nothing.

At least he thought it was nothing 

Because he wasn't even sure

He didn't know anyomore

He didn't know anything. Janus got frustrated with him every time they did movie night and left him to choose because he found it more like a torture than a gift, jagging at him about how he couldn't spend so much time to choose something as small as a damn movie, there _had_ to be something he liked better. But he didn't know what he liked or disliked. He didn't know what made him laugh or cry. He didn't know what hurt him. He'd see a funny meme and crack a laugh, sure, but... It felt more like tickling, marely a reaction. He didn't really have anything to smile for. To work for. Why? Things will just be the same, forever, so why even try? He'd just fail.

He was failure. And failures deserve punishment. But what's the point of a punishment to someone if they don't feel it? If they don't feel sorry? If they aren't crying and begging on the floor until their face is covered in tears and mucus and dirt and _please please I just wanna see him again I just wanna see him I'll be good I'll be a good kid this time I promise please stop please please-_

...

He didn't know

He didn't know anything anymore. He didn't know why he did what he did. He didn't know why he sleepless at bed at 2 am, his long nails going up an down un inner forearm, leaving a quite clean red mark all across his pale skin. It was almost calming, hypnotic even. He wondered how many times he'd have to repeat the almost mechanic motion until it went through his skin, to the veins. If he could grab and touch his bone if he open wide enough. He didn't even thought about pain stopping him, because it wasn't stopping him now. In fact there was no pain. Even when he applied more and more pressure, there wasn't pain. Not like there used to be. It wasn't more than a distant acknowledgement of the nails digging into skin. Was he really that fucked up that he could even feel physical pain anyomore? Or maybe it was just that he'd done it so many times it destroyed his nerves? He remembered reading once about it. Maybe another place? Would that be a better punishment? _(people who actually self harm don't do it on their arms, you're just looking for attention)_

He'd read how people would hit their thighs. It was almost always there. Why? Was it better? More effective? He wanted to try. He'd try anything. The sound of the bed springs and hitched breathing was muffled by the thumps. He wanted there to be bruises, to be painful. It was new. More hurtful. He did it again. Again and again and again. It soon became automatic, his breath hitched every time as he looked for more places to hit, somewhere the pain hadn't gotten to, to feel it, hoping that it'd be enough, that he'd feel the pain in his bone, in his mind, actually feel it and not just distant acknowledgement. He was so done with distance.

But it wasn't enough. He moved to the inner thighs. One hit finally stayed for a while, more than expected, and he wondered why it was so, so much ~~worse~~ better. Proximity to genitals? Maybe there was more nerves there? He'd have to look for a book. He could ask Logan but they haven't talked in so long, and he still liked him, but Logan probably was mad at him for not reaching out. Because he forgot. He forgot about his friend how dare he forget about him he deserved more pain he deserved more he deserved to suffer and cry _and beg in the floor until his face was covered in tears and mocus and_

"What are you doing?"

He wanted to die. In that very moment he wished for a heart attack. And with how all of his body instantly paralyzed, he might as well had gotten into rigor mortis. His left hand, raised up to keep hitting himself, was gently being held, with nearly no pressure, just the acknowledgement of someone else who stroke the back of his hand in a soothing motion. He finally felt the weight at the other side of the bed that wasn't there before, right behind him. He started to slowly lower his hand, and the other lowered his with him

"What were you doing?" the voice wasn't mad, wasn't loud. It was sweet and low and so, so gentle

"I don't know" he whispered, afraid of doing anything louder. He didn't know if he could do anything louder. "I don't know Jannie, I- I really don't know" another hand placed between his face and the pillow, stroking his cheek "I wanna cry, I wanna scream, I wanna feel hate and remorse and pain. I wanna feel something. Really feel something"

He didn't even feel tired. Being tired implied feeling with energy at some point. That he felt tiredness, exhausted. But there was nothing of that. Just pure, infinite numbness. A void filled with so many thoughts and emotions that just couldn't fully get at him. 

"I... I'm selfish, I'm a liar, an hypocrite, an Insensitive idiot, and I deserve punishment but what's the point in a fucking punishment if I don't fucking _feel_ it. I don't know what I am But I'm fucking broken"

It was quite for a second. And he realized he screwed up badly. Why did he talk? Why did he say anything? _People who have real mental problems don't talk about them, you're just looking for attention_

"But I'm just doing this for attention" he repeated to the voice in his head "aren't I?" _this is not how someone who really wants to hurt themselves actually acts_. "I'm not crying. I don't feel like crying. I feel as if nothing happened. That's not- that's not how you're supposed to... What's wrong with me?"

He remembered being full of emotion. He remembered acting out to any little thing, good or bad. He'd laugh his ass off for 15 minutes straight because someone say poo-ding and then cry for 1 hour over a dog getting abandoned by his owner. He remembered, though vaguely, feeling. Feeling too much for his own good, for anyone's good. And now he was on the other extreme, feeling too little, felling but an eternal nothing. And he still didn't know what was worse.

"Oh, baby..." the hand moved from his arm to under his legs, trailing all the way in his body, making sure to never stop touching him "come here, darling" Janus pulled him up on his lap, curling him into a ball and putting his head on his chest

He felt... Warm. Remus felt warm in Janus' chest. He cuddled closer to him, looking for it, for the feeling. He turned into the smallest ball he physically could, and sighed placidly when the other 4 arms joined to the embrace, the first two caressing his arms and legs. He... Felt. He felt nice and safe and he _felt_.

He felt. 

He didn't deserve this. He shouldn't want this. _You're just doing it for attention_. 

"I'm sorry" he nuzzled against the other's chest "I'm... I don't wanna die, not really... More like... Disappear? Yeah... Yeah, disappear. Just... Poof, no more, heh... I'm sorry I keep doing this" he hadn't hurt himself in months. It wasn't that much of a big deal for him, but Janus seemed so happy for him whenever he pointed out. So happy and proud. What was it like to be proud?

"it's not 'for attention', darling" he mumbled into his hair "it's depression. And that's alright. _You'll be alright_ "

There it was. The validation. The **_feeling_**

The tears finally, _finally_ streamed down his face. He pulled out his hands to grip Janus' shirt, balling it in his fists. His breath was hard and uneven, his mouth opening so wide his cheeks hurt (he wondered if they could cut open and leave his jaw hanging by the dead cartilage), in a desperate attempt to scream to no avail. He wanted to shout and ball his eyes out, have a fist so bad that the walls started bleeding and windows broke onto trillions of pieces. Instead, he could only sob, tears forcing out from how hard he was closing his eyes, his throat choking him as if to prevent him to do what he wanted, just letting out a low, strained sound. 

But there were tears, there was pain, real pain. Granted, it didn't last much, marely a few minutes. But was something, something that gave him some sort of hope. And Janus was there, caressing him, kissing him, cooing at him and doing everything in his power to make him feel good. And it worked. To an extent.

"How do you feel?" Janus nuzzled into his shoulder 

"I don't know... I'm sorry for doing it again. I... I just wanted to feel..."

"Hm... There's still ice in the frigde, right?"

"I- I think so, yeah... Why?"

Remus left a pitiful sound as Janus shifted to get him off his lap and got up. _Nonono please don't go don't go I wanna feel I wanna-_

Janus offered him a hand and a gentle smile. Remus blinked a couple of times until his late night brain understood what he wanted, and took the hand that helped him to get up. The shorter side swiftly lead him from the bedroom, to the hall, to stairs and finally to the kitchen. In theory, Remus already knew every nack and cranny of their home, probably better than him, but guessed he'd like the guidance, just as walking out instead of just appearing there or summoning what they needed. Remus would indeed thank him, eventually. 

Remus sat on the counter, dangling his legs above the ground. He was wearing nothing but his boxers, and hadn't realised how cold it was until now. Not like he minded, he liked cold, he liked to feel the freezing breeze on his arms and legs. Gave him some sense. Some feeling. He turned to Janus as he looked for something in the freezer, humming a song he couldn't bother to remember, wearing his soft yellow pijamas and black fluffy sandals. Janus' pijamas were the softest, fluffiest thing he'd touched in his entire life. Sometimes when he wasn't home, Remus would steal them and rub his hands and face against them like a cat. He'd probably cover more if all his clothes were like that, but that would be stupid, that looks _bad and horrible, you don't actually think that's good right?_

"Hold this" when had Janus moved to him? No idea, but it didn't matter. Remus looked down, his boyfriend was handing him a couple of ice cubes. A little confused, Remus took them on his own "if you ever feel the urge to hurt yourself, take some ice. It hurts, but it's at least harmless" Remus listened carefully, his eyes stuck on the ice. It went from cold to warm to burning in less than he expected, and the numbness even faster. He fisted one on each hand has hard as he could, and moved them around his palms when the numbness of his nerves was worse than the one of his mind. He'd rock back and forth in place, or start pacing from one side to another just to come back to were he was sitting. All the while Janus was there, making sure he was alright, making sure he wouldn't try and turn the ice into some frosty beast. He wasn't judging. He wasn't mad or condescending. He just... Stayed. Tried to help. Understood and took care of him in whatever ways he knew. 

Once the ice was almost fully melted, Remus popped what was left into his mouth, deciding it was enough. Should it be that easy? He remembered this used to leave him exhausted. You don't _really want to do hurt, do you?_

... But what was real, anyway?

The action made Janus snort, which made Remus snort as well. This was good. He was laughing, he wasn't mad. The deceitful side got up from the table to sit next to his boyfriend "how are you feeling now?" he gave him a sweet smile and put a hand on his back. Remus tensed, but soon relaxed into the touch, almost purring when he started to feel the scratches

"I..." he was so, so tired of giving the same answer over and over again. Janus probably was as well. _Janus probably is tired of him_. But if he was, why is he doing this? _Because he has to_. No he doesn't. "I don't know. Better, I guess? I'm not sure"

Janus took a moment to take in the information before nodding "That's ok. You did very good" the hand slowly made its way into the Duke's waist and pulled him closer "I love you, Topy" he whispered into his ear "and I'm so proud of you"

He didn't deserve those words. 

But he let himself hear them. He let himself crowl back into Janus' lap, rest the side of his face on his chest so he could hear his heartbeat, let himself close his eyes as he felt rubbing and kissing all over his body, his face, his hair, and he'd reciprocate with soft kisses and murmured 'thank you's and praisings placid sighs

"You will be alright. I love you"

He didn't belive those words

But he believed in Janus. He trusted him. 

So he trusted them.

They slept curled together that night


End file.
